


Tathāgata

by TexasDreamer01



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Battle of Anaxes, Fix-It, Gen, Ghost Company (Star Wars) - Freeform, Jedi Culture, POV Mace Windu, Presumed Dead, The Daughter (Star Wars) - Freeform, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:29:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TexasDreamer01/pseuds/TexasDreamer01
Summary: The news that trickled in of Obi-Wan was not, per se, of the man himself. It was a side-step, a whisper; gossip that pinched their brows and rumors that floated chills and prickled their hair. Their general existed in the refracted images of others, movement suspected but ultimately unseen.
Relationships: Ahsoka Tano & Mace Windu, Anakin Skywalker & Mace Windu, Clone Troopers & Mace Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Mace Windu
Comments: 15
Kudos: 141
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	Tathāgata

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pandora151](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandora151/gifts).



> > **Tathāgata** (Sanskrit: [tɐˈtʰaːɡɐtɐ]) is a Pali and Sanskrit word; Gautama Buddha uses it when referring to himself in the Pāli Canon. The term is often thought to mean either "one who has thus gone" ( _tathā-gata_ ) or "one who has thus come" ( _tathā-āgata_ ). This is interpreted as signifying that the Tathāgata is beyond all coming and going – beyond all transitory phenomena. [...]
>> 
>> The Buddha is quoted on numerous occasions in the Pali Canon as referring to himself as _the Tathāgata_ instead of using the pronouns _me_ , _I_ or _myself_. This may be meant to emphasize by implication that the teaching is uttered by one who has transcended the human condition, one beyond the otherwise endless cycle of rebirth and death, i.e. beyond dukkha.
> 
> \- [Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tath%C4%81gata)

The news that trickled in of Obi-Wan was not, per se, of the man himself. It was a side-step, a whisper; gossip that pinched their brows and rumors that floated chills and prickled their hair. Their general existed in the refracted images of others, movement suspected but ultimately unseen.

Attacking Anaxes had been a calculated gamble – risky, but no more so than had become common in these later stages of the war. The first shrapnel of news had come in the grim voice of Echo, retrieved with the aid of frantically-overridden droids, the trooper’s words coming through in staticky bursts of instructions to save themselves.

It had been, rather ironically, a trap. Mace had mused the words from under the worried hand he had clasped to his mouth, hidden for the few moments he could debrief privately with Rex. They shared a chuckle, breathless from the rigor of recent battle, too strung up on the tenterhooks of its accompanying fear to accept it. Echo had elected to stay behind, determined to find their general.

Mace, if he allowed the thoughts to float too high to the surface, could remember the press of Obi-Wan’s mind as he was shoved out of the complex. It branded his nerves, felt too cauterized for the Force to flow smoothly. Skywalker’s eyes reflected that jagged edge, in the way his hands were too quick to draw a saber alight with rage, the thunder of his steps when an enemy drew close enough for combat. The same burn prickled under his skin, the lure of Vapaad snapping at his fingertips and hissing to be brought to the fore.

With Obi-Wan presumed dead and Echo might as well be, the war tread a delicate line of completion. Anger burned and burned, difficult to snuff into acceptable parameters – it gratified the Jedi little to hear of Dooku’s offense, for it was his general that dealt Obi-Wan’s death by opportunistic proxy. The 212th had turned insatiable, a thirst shared by Mace as he led them, with the 501st and their own Jedi, into battles that swept the region.

The quiet notes of Yoda’s caution had slipped through the haze, grief-limned wisdom salting the wounds. Stiff-lipped, Mace had acknowledged the news sinking into the public’s mind, their fear that the GAR was fracturing along the lines of the Temple’s grief, a destruction total enough to stir the Chancellor’s concern.

Their only surprise to that news had been the twitch of Skywalker’s lips, his firm response that the Chancellor need not worry, for they were only seeking leads into the CIS’ activity. For a moment, the lurking rage had eased, pushed back by the bright spark that was the knight’s determination. It was light – _Light_ that broke through those clouds, releasing the clench of fear that trudged behind the swift strokes of their blades thus far. Mace had nodded, throwing his faith behind the young man’s words.

And so they had prowled, sweeping through enemy territory with a single-minded resolve fuelled by wildfire strength. Droids met them with faltering resistance, Echo’s voice patching through their mouthpieces, or elsewise words so familiar he could tell the troopers restrained tears of yearning for their faraway brother’s company.

And so their ghost in the machine guided the way, vengeance fulfilled with every Separatist plan shattered. The others on the High Council directed their efforts toward relief and diplomacy in their wake – bemoaning with faded smile that their efforts were no match for the brilliance of their erstwhile High General – throwing their weight into repairing the fractures this war had impressed upon the Republic, troopers slowly shifting arms into tools, a slow-moving fervor that Mace would be frustrated with if not for the turning tide of chatter propagated by journalists who were now able to see the full force of the GAR in a way that was constructive, rather than destructive.

It was this flicker of hope that banished the worst pains of grief rent by Obi-Wan’s death, and he had hoped the man’s spirit would be appeased by that – that his death had engendered change, powerful enough to set into motion the end of the war.

They mourned, yes, for each brother fallen, but now the warbling hum of an ignited saber tempered the brutal tilt to Skywalker’s brow, helped along by the steadfast companionship of his troops no matter the sleet or fire they faced on the battle fields Echo led them to. It was progress, ticking by slowly, and it wasn’t until the droids one day beheld their brother’s voice with the high tones of panic that they yet again changed tracks.

General Grievous had perished, only later finding out that he had been holed up on Utapau. The wounds were consistent with a lightsaber, which sent the news holos tittering, but Dooku had vehemently claimed that there was no point in murdering his top general. Republic Intelligence corroborated, insofar as they could, that neither Asajj nor Maul had movements tracked to Grievous’ fleet. It was a mystery only heightened by Echo’s confused muttering on the data as he assimilated it into his database of CIS tactics and politics.

The news had riled Anakin into a state, something that took coordinated efforts between his troops and Mace, and he was uncertain as to his angle of approach. There was still bad blood between him and the knight, though with the advice whispered by Rex and hesitatingly confirmed by others close to the knight, he elected to slip a message to the good senator. Between one blind eye and another, the man had calmed enough to confirm what he himself had suspected – those marks bore the form of Soresu, with an efficiency that Anakin had the experience to claim was his master’s unique variant.

That he had murmured, away from the men's earshot, that things did not feel _right_ , strung a deep unease down his spine. Echo was silent, pulled away by something that appeared important, however unknown its connection to the increasing frequency of oddities occurring between their onslaught of the CIS.

It was little comfort that their public image was receiving a good polish, for all that it allowed the Order to reduce the amount of effort needed to deflect the political jabs upon their back. No death by a thousand cuts was helpful, and being able to focus their attention upon the GAR, the _war_ – the one that the press had seemed to have had deluded themselves over, allowed them to take back the space their enemies had so deeply encroached upon.

With time, news – that in retrospect, were clues indicative of a spectre beloved by them – cluttered themselves together into a clear path. Roughened and weary by the intense, high-strung pace that the 212th and 501st had acclimated the 91st to, it took a rare moment of meditation to capture the thought into a crystallized whole.

The blast had been total, all-encompassing in a way that _couldn’t_ check for a body. In that respect, Admiral Trench had done his job incredibly well; a detonation using a fusion reactor to enhance the damage it could wreak was deadly, and capable of wiping clean any evidence caught in its reach. Anakin had raged for days, caught in the throes of grief that rippled through the troops to Mace himself, a fast-growing briar that threatened to drown them one prick of _cholermaniadolority_ at a time.

It had been a struggle to pull themselves from his morass. Broaching the memories of pulling himself and then others out, the Force a chthonic ocean that trembled with the threat of unrepentantly swallowing them whole, still made him shy away from the sensations associated with that day. Perhaps that had been why none of them had bothered to ruminate upon the events on Anaxes where things had gone so wrong.

When they had found Ahsoka entire systems away and right under their noses, the competing pull of emotions thriving in the Force had made his knees weak, wave after wave of joy and relief and grief commingling as Anakin had pushed his way to the bridge with a desperation borne of family long-lost and luckily found. The news of Obi-Wan had by then reached deeply into the public consciousness, though in the quiet corridors of the Temple, the young woman had confided that she had felt her grandmaster’s unique spark vanish from reach at the same time Anakin’s grief had pummeled her senses.

She, too, had shied away from the Force, her master’s presence overwhelming with its static, persistent imprints of Anaxes. With sabers back in hand, she had preferred to join their fight, a brightly lit spirit helping to guide their way toward peace. In that way, she upheld the tenets of both masters, balancing her lineage with a newly-wizened gaze.

Perhaps they had been wrong, to loosen their faith in the Force upon such an important occasion, instead of clenching tightly to hope where hope was needed most.

He sucked in a breath, unfolding himself from the lotus pose he had chosen some hours ago, his connection to the Force ephemeral as the euphoria of his revelation was replaced with the urgency to see if these points of refraction were indeed true. Emotionally, yes, but logically- his saber was clipped quickly to his belt, footsteps an urgent and discordant echo to his perception of the surrounding space.

Ahsoka intercepted his path. She caught his mood quickly, falling into step with a grace that belied her rapidly-gained experience upon the battlefield. Corridors seemed to zoom past him, and so absorbed was he with reaching the comm center that their entrance to its room startled him.

“Master?” The Padawan beside him asked curiously. Perhaps, like her master, she had already intuited what he had not processed of his own mind. Regardless, he shook his head, allowing the Force to guide his fingers in pressing buttons, sending a message to… possibly not nowhere.

Proceeding apace had accrued the attention of others who had witnessed their path, blinding spots of light on the periphery of Mace’s attention. He resisted the urge to wave them away with a fleeting thought, absorbed in the way the electricity twined with the Force, himself a conduit to what he hoped desperately was not the dead.

Silence, upon the last entry. He felt drained, emptied, yet pinned awake. _Look, look_ , it whispered to him, as the line sparked to life with a successful connection, _Watch_.

An image of Echo blazed to life, the blue filter obscuring how pale he knew objectively the man had become. He had a gobsmacked look on his face, likely matching the one upon Mace’s own, and with a flicker of attention he noticed a finger poised on the man’s corresponding call button. “Sir,” He announced faintly, “I was just about to call you.”

A pause. Mace inhaled, oxygen blooming in his bloodstream as the recycled air flooded in, sending sparks of connections across his synapses. “So you were.”

Echo floundered, eventually shutting his mouth with a decided click. “Well.” He announced, perhaps a notch higher than his surprise actually warranted. Mace grimaced with the urge to press a hand to his temple, pain pressing against the boundaries of his skull as Ahsoka attempted to gauge his stability. He waved off both, rolling it into a gesture for the trooper to continue, “Well. I… suppose while we’re here – I found something.”

The brevity was in itself an indication of importance, for the renegotiated duties had granted a depth of confidence Mace was told the other had previously cautioned himself against. He straightened, feeling the other sparks of minds doing the same with a synchronized attention that overlaid the Force’s tendrils of _watch, watch, watch_.

In to the picture stepped a ghost- _no_ , no ghost. His voice was struck from his thoughts, familiar upswelling of grief closing throat and thought apiece. It was only the broken voice of the man’s grandpadawan that slipped new life into his body, overturning the plummeting swoop of his stomach.

“ _Master Obi-Wan_.” It was the jubilant shock, tear-streaked and grateful, that was representative of them all. The tone had stripped all brevity of war away from the young woman, baring how deeply the wound of the man’s presumed depth had scarred them. Ahsoka reached a hand forward, as if the mere intention to touch could confirm to her physical senses that the image presented to them was indeed real.

As it were, the projection flickered at the interruption, and Mace felt the echo of grief rupture across his senses anew. He reached out, grasping the young Togruta’s trembling hand to draw it away, a soothing tilt to his mind as he corralled her into his side. It proved comforting, slowing the turbulent waves of her emotions tumbling forth into the Force as she sequestered herself into the voluminous folds of his cloak. It allowed him a point of focus, and he nodded to the troopers gazing at him pleadingly for guidance before looking back to the man looking at them in concern.

“Obi-Wan,” Mace greeted him, enveloping his own trembling timbre in a guise of demure joy. He doubted his control was sufficient, if the shocked look cast across the other master’s face was anything to go by – he inhaled, tried again, casting aside his habitual veneer to properly express his delight, “ _Obi-Wan_. It is good to see you alive, my friend. The Force was not the same without you.”

The gobsmacked look didn’t dissipate, and the man in question looked lost. Echo took over, voice crisp despite the concern glances ticking periodically over Obi-Wan’s form, as if he didn’t quite believe the sight himself.

“Sir,” He reported, albeit with a sardonic lilt that soon became apparent why, “General Kenobi survived the blast. He was recently able to extricate himself from CIS strongholds and collect intelligence on troop movements and overarching plans of attack.”

Holding up a data stick, the trooper continued, “The general managed to hack into several systems and reroute them with false information – this explains some of the aberrations with their movements and droid behaviour, as he made changes to their code that altered their analytical processes.” Echo shrugged at the way Ahsoka stirred at the news, her eyes bright and sharp with curiosity, “It does explain why we’ve been able to take back so much territory so quickly. He copied all changes and as many plans as he could from Grievous’ personal system, before, ah. Killing him.”

Despite the way Obi-Wan looked a hairsbreadth from toppling over out of sheer exhaustion, his white-knuckled grip upon Echo’s chair the only thing that might be keeping the man upright, his smirk – so familiar, so reminiscent of his boyhood joy at success in the face of difficulty – at the trooper’s recounting of events punched the air out of Mace’s lungs and pricked tears at his eyes. _Accomplishing the impossible yet again, little padawan_ , He thought fondly, starkly aware of this padawan having grown into a fine man with his own illustrious lineage, _Qui-Gon ought to be proud to see it_.

Outwardly, he did naught more than beam with pride, too exuberant at proof of the man’s continued presence among the living to bother with the usual demure demeanour being a Jedi demanded of him. “Excellent work, Obi-Wan,” He praised, seeing the fleeting softening of the man’s expression at such blatant support in front of non-Jedi. _No more_ , he promised himself, _No more withholding emotions for the sake of our Code. Obi-Wan deserves better than that._ Gentling his tone, as if the one before them was still a padawan and not the man who survived an overpowered bomb at point-blank range, “Now- go rest. I’ll call you later, all right?”

With a weary nod, as if he had been but awaiting permission to stop what looked to have been a maniacal pace, Obi-Wan clasped a hand to Echo’s shoulder and said to Mace, “May the Force be with you, Master.”

He nodded, throat tight, “May the Force be with you.”

They all watched with bated breath as Echo watched the man trundle off-screen, presumably until he left whatever room Echo had holed himself up in for working, the trooper’s expression sharp despite the perpetual weariness ringing around his eyes. After a beat, where they heard the faint swoosh of a door closing, the trooper turned back to them.

“His midichlorian count was nearly depleted after Anaxes,” Echo said flatly, the set of his face closing off. Ahsoka tightened her grip upon his cloak, twisting it in her grasp as Mace and the troopers stiffened at the news, “It has slowly been repopulating itself, but so far his levels are not nearly what has been recorded by Medical. Whatever protected him from that blast – Obi-Wan told me that he barely had enough time to warn you, General Windu, much less try to protect himself – took its pound of flesh from him.”

An image flashed across his mind, scarcely slow enough to register the impression of a woman in green and tasting of a mind not his own. Ahsoka gasped, breaking from his grasp to stare at him and wave an arm around excitedly, as if too energized to contain herself. “The Daughter!” She exclaimed, “Master, I think I know how he survived!”

“Ahsoka, what-”

But she had found her track, turning on a heel and tapping awake the comm unit on her wrist, “Skyguy! Skyguy, where are you?”

Mace found himself caught between Echo’s bewildered expression and the padawan marching off toward what was presumably Skywalker’s location aboard the ship. The trooper waved him off, amusement catching at the corners of his mouth, “I’ll be sending over the data packet in a second. That was my only update, anyway.”

With a nod of gratitude, he turned to follow the young padawan. Ahsoka had gone further than he expected, already deep within the bowels of the ship – toward the hangar, where both knew her master liked to spend his spare time nowadays. Though there was a palpable calm since his tête-à-tête with the Chancellor and whatever Senator Amidala had said forthrightly said, a thread of anxiety from the war’s course was always present, and Mace approved of how he had found solace in the minutiae of repair work and maintenance.

In a bout of aplomb worthy of mimicking her master, Ahsoka strode into the room with a pace close to running and announced herself with a shout, “He’s alive!”

Mace grimaced his way through the accompanying fluctuation that was Anakin’s emotions stampeding through the Force, feeling very much like he was on a ship in turbulent seas, before the clang of hydrospanner dropping to the floor registered to his more mundane senses. Its high pitch reverberated in his ears; he sighed, following the Togruta’s trail at a more sedate pace, nodding at the desperate expression that stole over the young man’s face.

“It’s true,” He confirmed, hoping his voice landed in the timbre of reassuring that Anakin sought. “Echo had just delivered his report – I saw Master Kenobi with my own eyes.”

Like the silence before a hyperspace jump, Anakin inhaled sharply. Even Ahsoka had paused, posture patiently cautious as they waited for Anakin’s trembling presence in the Force to still as he sought out his master’s own signature. For all that Mace knew he would find nothing (or perhaps this child had enough strength to seek out his heart’s desires, now that he knew it was possible under his own power), it was still a bracing sight for his gaze to turn tear-struck towards him, betrayal quickly etching itself onto the other’s features.

“You said-”

“It’s _true_ ,” He repeated firmly. Anakin deflated, uncomprehending in the face of such conflicting information, the movement making Ahsoka look toward him in askance for guidance. Mace needed to remind himself that she wasn’t there for the first influx of grief her master had displayed immediately after the Battle of Anaxes, and that they both needed the gentle wisdom he mantled himself in as Master of the Order.

Approaching slowly, toward first Ahsoka and then her distraught master, he knelt before Anakin and placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. This would be difficult news, and there was no easy way to deliver it. “Master Kenobi survived the blast, but his midichlorian count dropped to very low levels – beyond our ability to detect him.” He said, squeezing Anakin’s shoulder when a disbelieving sob rippled through him, a worrying but faint echo of Anaxes, “Echo has compiled a report of what he knows so far about the situation.”

Mace waited until the knight rested a hand upon his arm, until shattered, red-rimmed eyes met his own. The man’s padawan had shuffled closer, burrowing herself into her master’s side – it seemed to help, the way both of them settled and their presences smoothed out into something more closely resembling calm. The juxtaposed memory of how Obi-Wan had looked, noticeably pale even in the blue light of the holo, gaunt and world-weary, coaxed him into a quiet tone out of dolorous respect.

“Now is our time to help him,” He murmured to both of them, threading the idea through the Force as well in a light layer of suggestion, “He has done so much for all of us, and he needs help to recuperate from this ordeal.”

After a beat, whereby Mace could feel how the young man turned inward, tugging his spirit around Ahsoka’s and encapsulating the other’s Force presence from Mace’s senses in an absent movement, Anakin nodded.

“Alright,” The knight rasped, looking from Ahsoka back to Mace, “What do I need to do?”

He smiled, withdrawing in order to stand. “For now, make sure you and your padawan are rested,” The proposition was met with the tick of a smile, already turning toward his own padawan to coax her to standing, “I’ll see to it that a copy of the report is sent to your datapad.”

Ahsoka murmured wearily as she was shuffled upright, the lull of Anakin’s protectiveness buffering the adrenaline that must have drained out of her from Echo’s announcement. He paused to make sure they were on their own way to sleep, clasping a hand to Anakin’s shoulder when the other cast him a look of gratitude. The Force settled into a calm sea, lending him a strange feeling of lightness that Mace realized he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

* * *

Extracting Obi-Wan from Echo’s position was more difficult than the trooper had made it out to be – though in all fairness, the wry tone should have been ample warning. As it were, the sense of humor was bolstering, and perhaps Mace had let it buoy him over the logistics that was transporting a High General from enemy territory.

 _The devil is in the details_ , he mused to himself, gesturing for Ponds to direct Ghost Company to their newest set of coordinates.

It was enough of a risk to enter the last strongholds of CIS territory, but given the new information, all of them had voted that the drawbacks were acceptable. Dooku, for all that Echo and Clone Intelligence had been able to dig up, was uncharacteristically withdrawn from daily life as head of the Separatists. Rumor had been floating through the chatter that there was friction between him and Darth Sidious.

He knew that the Council of First Knowledge had been able to corroborate little, other than some movement on bounty hunters that seemed unusual. Waiting on that particular report would have shrunk their window of opportunity – Echo had cautioned against waiting too long, especially after updating his medical databases with what the Temple knew of Force afflictions.

Ahsoka had been keen on coordinating with the Healers, volunteering to head back to Coruscant to help Jocasta consolidate data packets, and Anakin, equally as keen on keeping one half of his immediate family within eyesight, had followed. He had sat through what he privately thought was an amusing ramble about Obi-Wan’s favourite and least favourite things before being “released” by the timely intervention of Commander Rex.

 _As if I hadn’t known him since he was in the crèche_ , Mace thought, brushing off the inquisitive thought from Ponds that filtered through. Yoda had caught wind of the more subtle particulars of their plan, and with a bubble of mirth, he hoped Obi-Wan was prepared to be indulged with every food the Grandmaster remembered him liking since his teeth first grew in. _He’ll be hale, hearty, and thoroughly sick of another muja fruit doughnut for at least a year_.

Unlikely, given the man’s sweet tooth, but Mace supposed that everyone would turn a polite eye the next time Senator Amidala loudly announced that she wanted to see the newest bakery on Coruscant, and would it be too troubling to ask for an escort who knew the area better? Both of them had bonded over their love of any and all fruit-based sweets, for all that they were frequently pulled away by their respective duties.

Perhaps it would be good to once again blandly inspect the troop roster as if it were the most riveting thing in the galaxy; their High General deserved the break.

With that thought in mind, Mace confirmed that everyone was in position, and set off to one of the last strongholds of the Separatists.

* * *

Obi-Wan was lighter than he originally suspected, and the fact itself was incredibly worrying. They took turns with the man, blithely ignoring the periodic, albeit weak, protests he muttered about being able to walk just fine. One of them had the foresight to smuggle in some food for the mission, and that seemed to sate the flickering annoyance etched into their general’s wearied face.

Echo was a calm voice in their ears, having absconded with a few droids willing to volunteer their way to emancipation. It made for some amusing conversation – Boil seemed to have found a common point with several of them, swapping stories and discussing places they’ve been deployed to. The conversation was light, a chattering interspersed with laughter or exclamations of disbelief. Privately, Mace thought that if this had happened sooner in the war, there wouldn’t have been a war to fight over.

As it were, they still had a long trek ahead of them. The droids stuck around, abetting them in navigating their host territory with the sporadic suggestion of lines from Echo. They tittered periodically, and Mace could only presume that they had their own connection to Echo that facilitated the least amount of contact with supervisor and tactical droids that couldn’t be swayed by clone or Jedi negotiations. It was both ingenious and impressive, and the long stretches of hallways and absconded ships were swiftly covered while Obi-Wan drifted in and out of consciousness.

The battle he had fought – so far from any support – had been draining and tedious. Mace could scarcely fathom being forced to navigate enemy territory with a single-minded goal fed by a powerful, scarcely-remembered entity that stifled his connection with the Force as a means of protection. Truly, it was a trial by fire, and by the slant of the other’s brow, incredibly lonely.

He resisted the urge to rest a hand against Obi-Wan, testing for himself that he was alive, if not “well” by the strictest of definitions. It was a sentiment shared by the troopers, and they all settled for concerned looks when Obi-Wan was most unaware of their gazes. That he currently couldn’t track their thoughts without significant effort was something he guiltily took advantage of, skimming his mind over the most superficial aspects of the man’s presence in the Force whenever his thoughts became too dour over Echo’s report.

It took several ships and outright falsified transmissions before Mace and Ponds were able to bundle everyone past the border. As exhausted as they all were, each of them refusing to take more than the scantest of rests, still they chose to move quietly as Obi-Wan slumbered on.

The gossip had circulated quickly, Cody and Ghost Company confirming that their general belayed suggestions to sleep as often as possible – to the point of borrowing energy from the Force when the man thought it necessary to protect his troops. It was a convincingly-put argument to tread as if the slightest breath would wake the man; such bone-deep exhaustion could only be remedied by an equally deep bout of sleep, and Mace was proud to witness the men’s gentle handling of Obi-Wan when they rotated who carried him.

Only after coordinating the briefing’s contents for the Temple with Ponds and Cody did Mace allow himself to exit the bridge, gait slow and unsteady with the consistent prickle of adrenaline wearing him out. Those he passed were content to nod in greeting, sensing that he was passing responsibility as point-person for their safety to the Marshall Commanders by retiring for some well-needed sleep.

He yawned, sliding the door open with a faint tick of his fingers. Even his cloak felt leaden, every swish of the woven fabric coaxing him to sway between the bulkheads.

The Force felt calm, a still water that reflected the light. It plucked at the last knots of his tension, undoing the little anxieties that had borne him through this mission with a warm touch that shed the last sharp edges of fear. No longer did he worry that they would be too late to help Obi-Wan, frantically searching for him only to find either a cooling corpse or near-as – not now, with the man slumbering quietly in a bundle of blankets tucked around him that shifted with every breath.

A sigh filtered through him, a tacit end to the impromptu meditation that bled the last of the tension from his lungs. It was a simple thing, now, to slide off his boots next to the bed and float his saber to land with a gentle clack upon a shelf. Though Obi-Wan was but a faint glimmer in the Force right now, Mace knew the man would eventually recuperate to his former strength – and that this time, he would need never experience such harrowing isolation again.

With the knowledge that this war of theirs was effectively over, Mace shuffled carefully into the gap beside Obi-Wan, awaiting dreams already pulling his eyes shut as he listened to the even breaths of their erstwhile Jedi. He would leave tomorrow’s problems for tomorrow, he decided, content in the knowledge that a dear friend found his way back to them.

**Author's Note:**

> "cholermaniadolority" - Choler, mania, and dolority. Choler is one of the "[four temperaments](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_temperaments#Four_fundamental_personality_types)", mania is... [the popular definition](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mania) but also [the goddess](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mania_\(deity\)), and the last is a back-formation of _[dolorous](https://www.etymonline.com/word/dolorous#etymonline_v_13914)_ that interestingly was also used in the poem [_the lady rebukes her knight for dolority of soul_ by heelers](http://theheelersdiaries.blogspot.com/2019/02/the-lady-despairs-of-her-knight.html). The poem doesn't directly go parallel the events of the story, but I did think a lot of the themes resonated with Obi-Wan as a character.
> 
> [Muja fruit](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Muja_fruit) \- I needed to pick a fruit, and this one seems to be pretty common. Quite interestingly, Dex served [Muja-filled donuts](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Muja_fruit-filled_donut) at his diner! I imagine Obi-Wan likes his share of sweets, and this would be an easily-accessible one for him.


End file.
